Women in Battle
by Wisteria666
Summary: Eomer's beliefs about women on the battlefield are challenged when he is cut off from his Rohirrim, with only a Haradrim soldier to watch his back.
1. Chapter 1

Staring moodily out the window, I polished my vambrace for the third time. Pale morning sunlight was streaming in, bringing with it the scent of green earth, growing crops, and the heady scent of horse. Any other morning I would be eager to be out among my Rohirrim, riding the wide open plains under the blue Rohan sky, but not this day. My mind was racing, searching for an escape from my troubles, which in turn troubled me even further.

_Always I have done what was best for my country, _I thought. _No matter the cost to myself. Am I such a coward now, that I should seek escape?_

"Come, brother," Eowyn said from the door way, causing me to jump. She loved sneaking up on me, the wretch. "You look as though you are on your way to meet your executioner."

"I think I'd be happier if I were," I shot back, sullen. "Rather that than a woman I know not, yet must wed. And a Haradrim, no less! Bloody savages."

Eowyn glided into my chamber and took the polishing cloth from my hand.

"Any more polishing, and you may blind the poor girl," she laughed. "And they are not savages. They may be less refined than us, certainly less than Gondor, but they are brave and accomplished fighters. A great Chieftain has risen again amongst them, and your marriage to his daughter will bring lasting peace to three kingdoms."

"At the cost of my marrying a painted nomad," I growled. "Would that Aragorn had a son to make this alliance!"

"Or an available Steward?" I glanced at my sister, and a reluctant smile tugged at my lips.

"Ill luck for Faramir," I teased. "He might have ended up wedded to a desert princess, rather than chained to my harridan sister."

"Harridan?" Eowyn gasped in mock outrage. "I'll show you bloody harridan!"

Several minutes later, a bemused guard found himself watching helplessly as his lord lay curled on the stone floor, laughing, as the Lady Eowyn beat at me with a sheathed sword. Fully armored, Eowyn's blows didn't hurt me, though the force of my laughter kept me from regaining my feet. In truth, it felt good to laugh. Havens know there had been little enough of it since the crown was thrust upon me.

"Take it back!" she demanded. "Say it! I am not a harridan!" I laughed harder.

"You're making my point!" I gasped, batting the sword away. "I don't know how Faramir puts up with you!"

"My husband recognizes my worth!" she huffed. "Unlike my unappreciative brother!"

Seeing the mock battle could continue for some time, the guard cleared his throat. We immediately halted our play, and I jumped to my feet.

"Forgive the intrusion," the guard said. "The Eored are mustered and await your presence."

Mirth faded from my face, and I nodded curtly. "Tell Gamling I shall be there in a moment."

The guard bowed, and I turned to his sister. Her hair had pulled out of its braid, and her pale gray gown, the color of her eyes, had wrinkled, yet she still looked dignified and graceful. She brushed the dark gold hair off of my face, and smiled encouragingly.

"It will be alright," she said. "You have seen the lady's likeness during the negotiations. She is a beautiful woman, and the ambassador says she is intelligent and well-liked. Give her a chance. You may find you are well suited to one another."

"I have seen an artist's drawing of a woman whose features were so idealized as to be anonymous. I would rather find my own wife among the women of Rohan," I retorted, settling my helmet over my hair.

"A king's hand is too valuable a thing to waste," Eowyn said sadly. "Especially when there are alliances to be made."

"I am just glad yours has brought you such happiness," I replied truthfully. I kissed my sister's forehead, then pulled back. "Am I presentable?"

"I suppose you'll do," she teased. "Come, the appointed hour is nearly upon us."


	2. Chapter 2

The ride east to the arranged meeting place was an easy two hour trek, far too short a time for my liking. I tried calling for a halt at a village with a well to water the horses, but Eowyn pointed out that the horses neither needed water after so short a ride, nor would stalling change the journey's conclusion. She was right as usual, damn her. I brooded in silence until a rider came galloping into sight and approached Gamling.

"Our scout reports that the Haradrim camp is just over that rise, nestled in the valley beside the river Snowbourne," Gamling said, dismissing the rider. I nodded shortly_. Less than a league left of freedom, _I thought to myself. Behind me, my Eored fanned out into a formal formation, an honor guard for the new Lady of Rohan. I felt my stomach twist.

"Try to smile, at least," Faramir advised, riding close beside me. "Otherwise, you may frighten the lass back to Harad."

"I should be so lucky," I muttered. "I suppose there's no getting out of this?"

"Not a chance," Faramir chuckled. "Aragorn and Lady Arwen will be here in a week's time for the wedding, as will Gandalf. You are well stuck"

"And we traveled all this way to see you married," piped up a voice behind us. Two hobbits, tall for their race, clung to their horses. Not wanting to shame me, Merry and Pippin had set aside their fat ponies in favor of Rohan steeds, though to my eyes they looked more like children on their father's horse than the blooded warriors they were. I'd never say so, of course. Their bravery had earned my respect, and my friendship. I supressed a smile and nodded to them.

"Grateful I am for that," I said gravely. "It will be an honor to have you there."

"Frodo and Sam were sorry not to come," Merry said, tossing his yellow curls. "But Sam is serious in his courting of Rosie Cotton, and Frodo is still recovering. They send their best wishes, though."

The land rose up beneath our horse's hooves, then fell away, revealing a lush valley and the river like a wide ribbon of silver, cold and deep where it met the Entwash. The beauty of this land took my breath away for a moment. This is what I had fought for, what my uncle had given his life to protect. Then I spotted the Haradrim camp. I tensed as horns sounded from below, heralding our arrival. Eowyn's horse shouldered Faramir's aside, and she took my arm.

"Look at that!" she breathed. Caravans of a light wood polished to a warm sheen and heavy with intricate carvings littered the valley. The small, black horses of the desert grazed complacently in a makeshift corral near the riverbank, and three mumakil loomed over them protectively. I repressed a shiver, remembering the devastation the giant animals had caused during battle. These, however, were not covered in the familiar war paint and battle banners, nor did spiked wires wind between their massive legs. Instead, banners of crimson, black, and gold, embroidered with symbols of union and fertility hung from their backs, and delicate bejeweled gold chains festooned their heads. Even their tusks had been gilded with gold leaf. It seemed to me the massive warbeasts looked the tiniest bit sheepish.

The people of the camp, a mixture of Haradrim, Gondor officials and their personal guard, and our own ambassador, scurried around like ants, readying for our arrival. One small group caught my eye; a gathering of women like jeweled birds, seated on brightly colored cushions in front of the largest caravan. One of the women, dressed more richly than the rest stood and peered up at me. Even at that distance I could see she was a remarkably beautiful creature. Her figure was lush and well rounded of breast and hip, and her raven tresses fell from an intricate coif down to her waist. She saw me staring back at her, and she slowly, provocatively, raised her gold veil to cover her lower face. Perhaps this marriage wouldn't be all bad.

As we rode down, the Harad ambassador galloped up to meet us, followed closely by his guard. Burok was a tall, imposing giant of a man, a former mumakil rider who still maintained the shaved head and facial markings of his hereditary position. However, his genial nature and ability to drink every guard in my house under the table had endeared him to my people. He had traded the skin baring flame silks of the riders for the black muslin and studded leather armor of the cavalry, and apart from the gold chain of office around his neck and lack of facial veil, he could have been one of his guard.

"My lord!" he hailed with a wave of his arm. "Welcome to our camp. How was your journey?"

"Not long enough," I grumped. He chuckled understandingly as he pulled his horse beside mine.

"A marriage of state can be a difficult thing," he said. "Still, your bride was chosen from the Chieftain's daughters with your, and her, happiness in mind. I dare say you are well matched."

"Well then, I look forward to meeting the woman," I sighed.

"You'll have to wait a bit longer," he said. "It has been a long journey from Minas Tirith, longer still from Harad, and the ladies will need to freshen themselves before the presentation at Edoras."

"Of course," Eowyn cut in. "The accommodations for the princess and her ladies have been finished, and everything they could need has been arranged."

"You are as considerate as you are lovely, my lady," Burok bowed to Eowyn. "Now, I must hurry back to camp to ready for the ride. I leave the captain of the horse to escort you the rest of the way. He gestured to one of the soldiers, who replaced him by my side, and galloped back down the hill.

"Shall we continue on?" the soldier asked. I looked over in surprise at hearing a woman's voice. The face was veiled, but the topaz colored eyes, thickly lined in the desert fashion, were very much female.

"The Haradrim allow women to fight?" I blurted out.

"Certainly," she replied. "Why not?" My mind flashed back to Eowyn lying nearly lifeless on the battlefield. Never had I felt so helpless.

"Women do not belong on the battlefield," I said firmly. A sharply arched eyebrow lifted.

"And what of your own Sheildmaidens?" she asked. "Their fighting prowess is legendary in my land."

"The Shieldmaidens of Rohan have not seen battle in two generations," I replied. "Women are not strong enough for the battlefield."

"Are they not, then?" the captain mused, and said no more as we rode toward camp.


	3. Chapter 3

The Haradrim were the traditional enemy of Gondor, and had fought on the side of Mordor during the War, so I was surprised to encounter no hostility as we rode into camp. We were acknowledged with varying degrees of cordiality, from warm smiles to reserved, though respectful, nods, and I wondered about this aloud.

"Not all the Haradrim chose to fight alongside the Dark One," the Haradrim captain answered. "The chieftain was one, and his wisdom in refusing to join contributed to his rise among the clan chiefs."

"But there has always been hostilities between Gondor and Harad, and as Gondor's ally..."

"Just because something is traditional does not make it deeply revered," she shrugged. "Our people raided the southern lands of Gondor because it was always done, and to gain experience as warriors, not because of any true hatred. This alliance benefits us greatly, and though we may lose our sport, we gain a future for our people."

"What do you mean?" Faramir asked from behind us. The captain hesitated, then bowed her head.

"The War was not easy on us," she admitted. "The desert is a harsh and unforgiving place to live, and our meager water sources are our life's blood. The Dark One used that to compel more clans to join him. He diverted many of our streams for his use, and buried many of our watering holes. The streams will revert to their orignal beds eventually, and the watering holes will make their way to the surface again, but it will take time,years perhaps. For now, there is not enough water to support all of the surviving clans. King Aragorn the Blessed offered us fertile land and endless water in exchange for peace, despite past hostilities. We are a proud people, but we are grateful."

I pondered on that as we rode through. Around us tents were being folded up and carts packed. I caught sight of the princess's caravan again. She stood beside the door, while her ladies gathered their cushions. Upon closer inspection, she was lovelier than I had thought. A form-fitting dress of rose gauze both clung to her body and flowed down it, simultaneously concealing and exposing her perfect figure. Stings of precious jewels hung from her neck and waist, and were woven through her hair. Midnight dark eyes caught sight of me, and she looked me up and down. Her full lips, unveiled again, stretched in an inviting smile. I found myself flushing under her frank appraisal.

"Pretty thing, isn't she?" the captain said, as I started. For a moment I had forgotten she was beside me. "She'll fetch a great price in your land."

"Price?" I said. "Is that what you think a marriage is, a transaction?

"Is it not?" she countered. She unhooked her veil from her head covering and let it hang across her shoulder. She took a swig from her waterskin, and I noticed she shared the same lips as my intended lady. "A bride is paid for, be it with coin, land or treaties. A peasant with a goat, or a prince with a kingdom, it makes no difference. Of course, some brides are worth the price. Others..." She nodded toward the princess and grimaced. "Perhaps not."

The lady in question -What had Burok called her during the negotiations?- finally took notice of my escort, and gestured to her imperiously. The captain sniffed.

"If you'll excuse me," she said. "It appears her highness is requesting my presence, in her own demure, genteel way."

"You speak of your betters in such a way?" I asked in surprise. She looked up at me in amusement.

"We are kin," she replied. "Cousins to be exact. And in no blessed way is she my better!" Her eyes flickered past me, and she frowned. I turned, but saw nothing.

"Madam?" I queried. She pulled a spyglass from her belt and held it to her eye. Her breath hissed between her teeth, and she thrust the glass at me. I looked through it toward the southwest. A dark smudge on the horizon resolved itself into a line of armed and armored men.

"Do you recognize them?" she demanded, her Harad accent thickening. I handed her back the spyglass.

"I do not," I replied. "They wear no standard, and fly no flag. But the are heavily armed, and ride hard for us."

The captain pulled a carved horn from her belt and blew a loud, rising note. The camp erupted in pandemonium as the Haradrim rushed to finish stowing their goods. Soldiers ran for the corral, not bothering with the gate as they rushed to gather their horses. I turned to Eowyn and Faramir.

"Lead the caravans back to Edoras," I ordered. "The Rohirrim and I will keep them from following you."

"We can fight!" Eowyn argued. Merry and Pippen appeared at her side.

"So can we!" Merry proclaimed. "We can help."

"I know you can," I said. "You've proved yourself time and again. I need you now to protect the caravans, should any get past us. It falls to you to get my bride-" I nearly choked on the words, "-to safety."

Eowyn began to argue, but Faramir took her arm and pulled her away. I knew he'd keep her safe. Merry and Pippen drew their short swords and followed behind. I turned my horse and rode hard for the perimeter of the camp, where my men waited.

"To me!" I shouted. "Protect the camp!"

We circled the perimeter and rode toward the advancing horde. With luck, they would turn and flee, whoever they were, but I doubted that would happen. A quick look behind showed the first carts and caravans moving toward Edoras, and more preparing to follow. Faramir and Eowyn were directing the crowd, with Merry and Pippin leading the way. Burok bellowed orders, his scimitar held high over head. I had a feeling I'd be spotting him on the field of battle, retired though he should be.

To the west, the Haradrim rode hard, their war cries filling the air. I felt the battle lust flow through my veins, and I grinned happily. I realized that at some point I had lost the little captain, and shrugged. _If she cannot keep up, _I thought smugly, _ let her remain behind._

We met in a clash of steel, men screaming as they fell. The bandits, for lack of a better term, were skilled, but not enough to stand against my men and the Haradrim horse, though they outnumbered us two to one, at the least. As we fought, I tried to identify them, but they wore not insignia nor identifiable clothing. What they armored themselves in was a motley of pieces from different lands; a Gondoran breastplate, Easterling and Uruk helms, Mordor gauntlets, all ill-fitting as though looted from fields of battle. I caught sight of Gamling and gestured an order to him. He nodded and blew the signal for prisoners to be taken. Bandits so near Edoras were an uncommon thing, and I wanted to know why they would brave the full force of Rohan's army. Not far from Gamiling, Burok fought mightily, and gore dripped frim his scimitar. Not bad for an ambassador.

I risked another look toward the camp and was satisfied to see the last of the carts disappear over the ridge. We just needed to block the bandits from following after. My men mingled with the Haradrim as they fought, and slowly the number of bandits dwindled.

A knot of bandits caught me in their midst, and I concentrated on keeping their steel out of my flesh. One by one I layed them low until I had room to breathe. It was then that I realized I had been driven far from the main body of my guard. Several dozen bandits stood between me and escape, and before I could move to escape a sharp blow knocked me from my mount. I lay stunned for a long moment, as molten flame spread through my shoulder. A black fletched arrow had buried itself deep into my flesh, and I felt my sword hand go numb. A shadow fell over me, and I half-rolled quickly, grasping for my fallen sword with my other hand. A bastard sword cleaved the earth where my head lay just a moment before, and I kicked out, knocking my attacker from his feet. I struggled to rise, but the weight of my armor slowed me, and another bandit took the place of his fallen comrade. To my dismay, this one was mounted, and he grinned as he slashed down at me with his long sword. There was no way to avoid the blow, and I braced myself for the pain. Before the blade could strike me it was deflected by a scimitar. The Haradrim captain stepped over me and swung her blade at the bandit. I took the opportunity to rise, and I whistled for my horse, who had remained nearby. The captain tried to drive the bandit back, but the bulk of his horse kept her from scoring a serious blow. The bandit nudged his horse, and the beast shouldered the captain, who stumbled slightly. It wasn't much, but it was enough. The bandit's sword flashed, and she grunted. She pressed her free hand to her belly and swung wildly. Skill or luck I cannot say, but her sword layed open his leg, and he screamed and pulled away, dropping his sword to staunch the heavy flow of blood. She struck again, and this time he fell, dying quickly of blood loss from his severed limb.

My horse thundered to my side, and I grabbed the saddled and swung up, crying out in pain. Seeing more bandits riding for us, I guided him around and reached down for the captain with my good arm. Blood poured over the hand held tight to her stomach, but she took my hand and swung up behind me.

"We've been sectioned off from the fighting," she said. I kicked my mount into a full run, away from the oncoming bandits.

"We need to retreat," I replied, wrapping the reins around my good arm. "The main enemy force stands between us and our men. We head for the foothills. We may lose them there."

The captain made no reply. I could smell the blood that flowed from her wound to pool bewteen our pressed bodies.


	4. Chapter 4

We rode for hours across the plains, slowing only when my WindLass began to tire. We tried to stop several times, but always the distant sound of pursuit urged us on. To the west and the south we travelled, riding hard for the foothills. I tried veering north, up toward Edoras, but found the way watched by more bandits, too many to fight in our condition. The heavily forested hills at the base of Ered Nimrais were our best hope. The Harad captain remained silent at my back, only quiet whimpers sometimes passing her lips. I didn't dare stop long enough to assess the extent of her wound; the wash of blood staining my thighs where hers met mine told me it was grevious enough to warrant concern. The wound I had taken, though painful, did not bleed much, and I had taken arrows before; I would live.

We entered the woods as the sun touched the tips of the white mountains. On we rode, through thick forest and deepening shadows, until it was too dark to continue on. The hoof beats from the enemy mounts had faded long before, and the hills now offered ample sanctuary. I found a secluded hollow with enough green cover to conceal us from searching eyes and a tiny spring bubbling up from a moss-covered basin.

"This will do for the night," I said. The captain slid slowly from behind me, landing gingerly on her feet. She took two steps toward the spring, and sunk to her knees. I dismounted quickly, and knelt at her side. Her olive skin was ashen, and her eyes seemed glazed.

"I have stopped the bleeding for now," she croaked. "But the wound will reopen with washing. I must seal it. Help me to the water."

"If it's closed, leave it," I suggested. She gave me a look of profound disgust.

"Do you barbarians have no knowledge of wound sickness?" she demanded. "It must be cleaned and sealed." She dragged herself to her feet, stubbornly brushing my offered hand aside, and stumbled to the spring. I followed close behind, and sat beside her when she lowered herself to the moss bed with a loud sigh. I pulled the helm from my head and filled it from the spring. I drank deeply, then filled it again, offering it to her. Nearby, WindLass drank thirstily from another pocket of water.

The captain took my helm and wedged it between some rocks. She pulled a leather pouch from her overtunic and poured a handful of the contents, a pungent dried herb, into the water, turning it a murky green. With quiet moans of pain, she removed the remains of her leather armour from her torso, and carefully peeled away the ruined overtunic. The undertunic she had to cut away, so stuck was it to her wound. Eventually, she lay back against the wall of the hollow, panting with exertion and pain. Her torso was bare, save for a strip of black linen binding her breasts tightly to her chest. I was impressed despite myself; her well-muscled body was heavily scarred, marks of battles past. Evidence of knife, sword, and arrow were all present. I winced as I caught a glimpse of a long burn scar from underarm to curving hip.

My first sight of the captain's current injury brought a curse to my lips. The herb water she used to clear away the blood, exposing the gaping wound. The flesh from sternum to waist was split open, exposing soft yellow fat and slabs of near-purple muscle, thick and pulpy, like crushed redberries. I felt bile rise in my throat, and I swallowed it down.

"It is not too bad," she said faintly, dabbing the rapidly pooling blood away. Out of the ruins of her uniform she produced a clay jar, filled with pale cream tallow. "Hold the wound closed."

I stripped off my gauntlets and placed my hands flat on her belly, pressing the lips of the wound together. Unsure of her treatment, I was nevertheless surprised to see her place a strip of leather between her teeth, and scoop a dollop of the cream out of the jar with the tip of her dagger. She took several quick breaths, and smeared the tallow down the bloody seam. At first nothing happened, then I saw the flesh begin to redden, then bubble. Smooth skin melted and ran, sealing the wound into a long, crimson scar. THe captain bit down hard on the strip, and breathed deeply, unwilling to scream. Her back arched, and I pressed down hard to keep her from reopening the wound with her struggles.

"Madam," I pleaded. "Captain, please, you must remain still!"

Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, smearing the thick lining, and a low keening issued from her throat. Her clawed fingers tore at the earth, digging furrows into the soft moss. When I thought her body would break from the strain, she let out a sigh and sagged against the ground, panting with exhaustion.

"Water, please, she said weakly. I scooped water into my hands, and she drank thirstily.

"My thanks," she said, closing her eyes. "Moons, I hate using that."

"What is it?" I asked, curious.

"Fat, wood ash, and some herbs, and a mineral found in the desert. It is called sun's milk, and a sure cure against wound sickness." She pushed herself upright, then fell back against the earth. "It is also excruciating. I am afraid I will be of little use to you for a few days."

"Do not concern yourself," I said, taking in her pallor and trembling limbs. "Once the sun rises, we will ride for Edoras. I doubt the bandits will make much of a search."

"Would they not?"

"Why would they?" I countered. "A Harad soldier and a single Rider of Rohan? Of what value would we be?"

The captain looked at me in disbelief. "You are not a Rider," she explained slowly, as if to a particularly thick child. "You are Eomer King of Rohan. Your value in the wrong hands would be immeasurable."

"And how would they know my identity among the rest of my Riders?" I challenged.

"Aside from the overly decorated and eye-burningly polished armour, and the helm sporting a stylized crown?" She dismissed my armour with a pointed sniff. "All know the Lion of Rohan. Tales of your prowess during the War are on many tongues." She reached out tiredly and tugged a strand of my hair. "As are descriptions of your outstanding attributes. And while I cannot vouch for some of them," her eyes flicked downward, "your hair is well known. The color of a desert lion's mane." Her hand fell to her lap, and she yawned. "Forgive me, I prattle on, and you are yet wounded. Remove your pauldron, and I will see to the arrow."

I removed the shoulder armour carefully, and she prodded the wound with unsteady hands. The woman was exhausted nearly to the point of collapse, but I would need her if the arrow proved to be lodged.

"It is not barbed," she said finally, and to my surprise, she wrenched the arrow from my flesh. I gasped at the sudden pain.

"What the hell did you do that for?" I demanded when I could speak again. She tossed the arrow aside and handed me the jar of sun's milk.

"What point in prolonging the inevitable?" she shrugged. "It is out now." Her eyelids began to flutter. "Forgive me, sir. I cannot stay awake much longer."

"Rest," I said. "WindLass will keep watch."

As the little captain fell into sleep, I eyed the jar warily. I did not relish the thought of cauterizing my wound, but I could not argue with the results. Bracing myself, I dipped her dagger again into the cream and touched it to my shoulder.

Of the following minutes, I will not speak, save to say I'd rather lose a limb than use that cure again.

xxxXXXxxx

"I care not how dark it is," Eowyn snapped. "Send more Riders out to find my brother!"

"With all respect, my lady," Gamling said. "There is no point. We cannot follow tracks we cannot see. Even Prince Legolas would not be able to discern hoof prints from gopher holes when the clouds cover both moon and stars. We must wait until first light."

Eowyn turned to the elven prince, who nodded ruefully.

"It is true, my lady," he confirmed. "We must wait."

Faramir placed his hand on Eowyn's shoulder, and she leaned against him, taking comfort from his warmth. Tears leaked from her eyes, and she dashed them away angrily.

"Damn it!" she snarled, taking those assembled by surprise, and making Pippin fall off of his seat. "I cannot sit and wait while my brother- your king- is lost! He may be injured, or worse."

"He is safe."

All eyes turned to the door leading from the Hall to the living quarters. Eomer's betrothed stood framed in the door way, torch light caressing every curve of her body. She wore an expression of profound unconcern that made Eowyn long to strike her.

"What makes ye say that, lass?" Gimli asked. The dwarf and the elven prince had arrived at Edoras to find the Hall buzzing with activity and upset over the attack.

"My captain is with the king," she said. "She will see that no harm comes to him."

"It is true that she did not return with our soldiers," Burok chimed in. "And we did not find her among the dead. But how can you know she is with him?"

"I gave her orders," the princess replied. "She was not to leave his side."

"Why would you give such an order?" Eowyn demanded. The princess lifted a slender hand in a dismissive gesture.

"I have my reasons," she smiled slyly.

"Lady Mayaya," Burok said warningly. She feigned a hurt pout, then laughed happily.

"All will be well," she stated, and left the hall in a cloud of jasmine perfume and teasing laughter.

"She, er, wouldn't happen to be a bit touched, would she?" Gimli asked. "'T'would explain why the Chieftain was so willing to send her away."

"No," Burok sighed. "She is simply what you people might call a proper pain in the arse, and damned cunning with it. Let it be. She is right. If the captain is with your king, he is as safer than could be expected. I suggest you bring in the prisoners. Let us hear what they have to say."


	5. Chapter 5

"Balls."

Despite the gruesome tableau laid out before them, Legolas felt his mouth twitch. He knew the sight of his friend bristling with annoyance should not amuse him, but Gimli had an uplifting effect on him. It was one of the things he cherished most about the dwarvish warrior. Even when things seemed at their darkest, Gimli could coax a smile or rare laugh from the solemn prince.

"Well, that's a fine mess," Gimli rumbled. "Aye, the Lady Eowyn will have a royal fit when she hears of this."

"I don't understand," Gamling's voice shook. "The prisoners were under guard the entire time. Who could have done this?"

The three warriors stood at the entrance to the small dungeon cell deep under the Hall, and did their best to breathe through their mouths. The floor before them was a lake of blood and dead flesh. Eleven prisoners in all had been taken, and all lay dead of numerous wounds. Whatever they had to tell had gone to the grave with them.

Cringing slightly, Legolas stepped lightly into the still-warm blood, and shuddered as it washed over the toe of his boot. He steeled himself and crept farther into the cell. Pulling his sword, he used the blade to probe the nearest body, a half-reclined bandit. It shifted and toppled, splashing Legolas with crimson. Legolas closed his eyes briefly in disgust.

"You a'right then, laddie?" Gimli called from the safety of the door.

"Never been better," Legolas said dryly. He crouched beside the body and frowned. He moved carefully to the next body, and the next.

"Each of the bodies bears the same wound," he said finally. "Sometimes at the base of the skull, sometimes lower on the spine, but always the same wound." He held two fingers out in a forked position. "Two blades, close together. I suspect that is what killed these men. The mutilations were done after."

"What makes you say that, sir?" Gamling asked.

"I can't imagine a cell full of men allowing an assailant to hack them to pieces without either fight or fuss." Legolas straightened and gazed around the small room. "I think I've found him."

Legolas kicked several severed limbs aside to reveal a corpse, untouched aside from a small amount of bloody froth on his lips. He pulled the dead man's eyelids back, and made a sound of disgust.

"Spider venom," he spat. "He killed his comrades, then poisoned himself."

"Well, why the hell would he do that?" Gimli asked.

"It is a question I'd dearly love the answer to," Legolas replied. He rolled up a sleeve and sunk his hand into the reeking blood. Gimli sputtered in shock.

"What the blazes are ye doin', lad?" he demanded. "Unsanitary, that is!"

Legolas chuckled darkly. "Don't speak to me of unsanitary," he replied. "I've seen some of your dwarf taverns. Even the plague rats avoid them. Ha!" He lifted an object from the blood and held it up to the light.

"I've never in all my years seen a weapon like that," Gimli breathed. "Ach, it's bloody hideous!"

"I'd say it's what killed these men," Legolas said, turning the bloody weapon over. Two slender undulating blades shone dully in the torch light, connected at the base by a looped knuckle guard. Legolas thought it both beautiful and foul.

"We'll take this to Faramir and Burok," he said, making his way back to the door. Gimli gave him a wide berth as he passed by.

"I sure hope you're planning on washing first," he said, wrinkling his nose.

"Of course," Legolas assured him, and promptly wiped his bloody hand on the back of Gimli's jerkin.

"Balls," Gimli grumbled again.

xxxXXXxxx

Faramir did not recognize the blade, but Burok's reaction to the sight of it was a surprise.

"Assassin," he spat. He made a sign of warding at the weapon. "It's a Bi'chwa, a weapon used by the assassins of the East. Our kin."

"That explains the poison," Faramir mused. "I've heard tell of a clan of shadow killers from the East who use the concentrated venom of the Great Spiders as a method of murder. They are said to be skilled and relentless in the pursuit of their quarry."

"Why would an Eastern assassin be trying for Eomer?" Merry asked, peering at the weapon.

"They will hire their services to any who can afford them," Faramir replied, as Legolas tossed the blade onto the table. "And I can think of several reasons to try for Eomer's head. An attempt to weaken Rohan, in retailiation for his continued support of Gondor, the alliance with Harad..."

"I would speculate that as being the most likely," Burok growled. "Our Eastern kin are not happy about the marriage. With this alliance, we Haradrim are no longer dependent on them for access to water and food enough to survive. They still seek to conquer Gondor, but without the strength of our numbers, now that Mordor is crushed, they have no hope."

"So if Eomer dies..." Legolas began.

"-The alliance cannot move forward, and the Easterlings will force the Haradrim into war against Gondor," Faramir finished. He looked toward his silent wife. Eowyn's head was bowed in thought.

"But the assassin is dead!" Pippin exclaimed. "Doesn't that mean Eomer's safe for now?"

"No," Burok said gravely. "The assassins we speak of do not leave things to chance. There are more of them out there, hunting him. They will not stop until he is dead. And with the prisoners all murdered, we have no way of finding for certain who set them on him."

"Tell me the truth," Eowyn said quietly. "Will my brother return to us?"

"I cannot say, my lady," Burok replied. "Your king is a skillful warrior, and he has the best of our fighters at his back. But they are alone, and face killers as deadly as the sand winds. I... would not hope, my lady."

Eowyn closed her eyes, and grief settled across her pale features. "We cannot chance it then," she whispered. "Gamling, fetch the Lady Mayaya. If my brother's body-" she choked on the words. "-is found before the alliance is sealed, all is lost. The marriage will take place immediately, by proxy." She fled the Hall before her tears could fall.

"Who is standing for Eomer?" Merry asked, breaking the heavy silence.

"I am," Faramir sighed. "He has no other brothers, or even cousins. I am both brother and Rohirrim by marriage. I trust there will be no argument against my standing proxy, Burok?"

"None," the giant Haradrim replied. "I regret only that it is necessary. May the moons protect your king."

"But what of Aragorn and Gandalf?" Gimli protested, scandalized. "Surely we must wait for them!"

"You heard Lady Eowyn," Legolas replied, pouring himself a cup of wine. "We cannot wait. Aragorn will understand."

oooOOOooo

Lady Mayaya watched from the shadows as Eowyn fled from the Hall, then retreated back to her rooms. This was an unexpected development, with potentially troublesome consequences, but she was sure she could turn them to her advantage. Her plans would go forward no matter what. She had made sure of that.

"Aiska," she called. "Ready my crimson silks. And have Ramlah set out my garnets. We will have much to do this night, I think."


	6. Chapter 6

Eowyn took a moment to compose herself, and knocked on her sister-to-be's chamber door. A veiled attendant ushered her inside with a graceful gesture and lowered eyes. She stepped inside and paused for a moment to take in the changes Mayaya had made to her sitting room. The sturdy, carved wooden benches and tables had been adorned with colorful silk cushions and coverings, and pushed against the tapestry covered walls, giving the room an open, airy feel. Jewel glassed lanterns threw off light of every hue, and soft, woven rugs depicting the desert in spring now covered the stone floor. More cushions festooned the rugs, their rich glass beadwork reflecting the multi-colored light. Eowyn felt as though she were standing in the center of a particularly gaudy rainbow.

Mayaya rose from one of the benches, and held her hands out to Eowyn. Her thin dressing gown left nothing to the imagination, and Eowyn, modest by nature, fought down a blush. Mayaya embraced her lightly.

"I have heard the news of the assassin, sister," she said, and Eowyn tried not to bristle at the familiarity. "I grieve with you." She led Eowyn to one of the tables and poured her tea from an exquisite ruby colored glass pot. Eowyn lifted her matching glass to the light, admiring the deep red glow within.

"Your glass work is beautiful," she said, searching for something to say that would put off the inevitable discussion. "I had not imagined Harad had such an industry."

"What have we but seas of sand?" Mayaya replied airily. "And much time to develop our skills, when we are not fighting."

"Glass of this quality is a rarity," Eowyn continued. "It would fetch a great price in any kingdom. What need have you of this alliance if you have such an abundance of treasure?"

"One cannot drink glass, nor eat gold," Mayaya answered. "And our history with Gondor and dealings with Mordor have made the other kingdoms reluctant to establish trade with us. Now, no more talk of such inconsequential things. Drink, drink! It is an infusion from my land, and is said to ease grief."

"I fear we have little time for grief," Eowyn said, wrapping her fingers around the cup for warmth. "Gamling has apprised you of the situation?"

"The red-faced warrior? Yes, so taken was he with sorrow that he could scarcely speak."

_Red faced, indeed,_ thought Eowyn acidly, as she attempted to keep her gaze from slipping to the breasts clearly visible through the whisper-thin cloth.

"He composed himself enough to state that the marriage is to take place tonight, through proxy. Is that correct?"

"Yes," Eowyn replied. "But only if you are willing. Should my brother not return, circumstances will change for you. The alliance would be confirmed, but you would rule only until a child of my bearing became old enough to assume the throne."

Mayaya waved away Eowyn's concern. "Do not distress yourself, sister. Such worries can wait. I am fully confident our Eomer will be returned to us, but if he is not, if the worst should come to pass, all that matters is this alliance. Our people will know peace and prosperity, whatever may befall us. Let the marriage take place tonight, now."

"Very well," Eowyn said, gathering her skirts. "We will await you in the Great Hall. May the Havens bless your union."

oooOOOooo

"Well, Aiska, what do you make of the king's sister?"

The veiled attendant laid her mistress's wedding garments across a padded bench, and thought carefully over what she had observed of the Princess of Ithilien.

"She wears mourning gray," she said. "She does not truly believe her brother lives- he would have returned home by now if he did, she thinks. She hides it, but she grieves deeply. However, she sees her duty as paramount to her emotions. She also does not trust you." She nodded toward Eowyn's untouched tea.

"She has some intelligence," Mayaya chuckled. "Anything else?"

"She is with child."

"Ah, you noticed, did you? She'll have to let out the seams of those gowns soon. The fabric is starting to pull at the waist."

"The tea?" Aiska queried, looking pointedly at the teapot. Mayaya laughed, understanding the question.

"Merely a calming tea," she said, pulling a bundle of black cloth from a nearby trunk. "I have no need to go _there _quite yet." She tossed the bundle to her attendant. "Change whilst I ready myself for my wedding."

Several minutes later, Mayaya nodded approvingly at the slim Haradrim soldier in front of her.

"Perfection, as always," she said, as Aiska strapped her scimitar to her belt. She handed her attendant a sheet of parchment, folded and sealed with wax.

"Put this directly in _his _hands," she instructed. "Tell him to wait one moon. Should Eomer not return by then, or his body is found, in which case I will journey to the netherworlds to punish my cousin's incompetence, he is to continue with his tasks and return in..." She pictured the almost imperceptible swelling of Eowyn's belly. "...seven months. We will commence then. Now, go."

oooOOOooo

Legolas stifled a yawn and wished, not for the first time, that Gandalf were present to officiate the ceremony as planned. The elderly cleric Gamling had roused from his bed was complaining loudly and even Legolas' elven-bred serenity was at its breaking point. Gimli sat sprawled across a chair beside him, his face buried in a tankard of ale. Legolas envied his friend's ability to tune out even the most obnoxious of sounds. He supposed it came from growing up in an underground palace, where every sound was amplified tenfold.

"This is just not right," the cleric lamented. "You cannot have a royal wedding without the groom! 'Tis unheard of. 'Tis heresy! Treason!"

"Come now, honored wiseman," Burok soothed. "There is much precedent, even in this land."

"'Tis most irregular. I will not stand for it."

"Then sit if ye wish, ye daft bugger," Gimli finally cut in. "Just ye be sayin' the bloody words!"

"Well, I never!" the cleric sputtered.

"And ye won't either if I have to gut ye and use yer head like a puppet in order to get the damn alliance done!" Gimli growled. The cleric blanched and scurried off to the safety of Eowyn and Farmir's company.

"I can't take you anywhere," Legolas mock scolded. Gimli shoved a tankard of mead at him.

"Ye wanted to yank his flapping tongue out o' his mouth too, laddie," he retorted.

"An elven prince does not have such unworthy thoughts," he replied. Gimli glared up at his friend suspiciously, then grinned as he spotted the mischievous glint in his eyes.

The room fell silent, and Gimli looked up to see the Lady Mayaya enter the Hall. The Harad princess glowed like a living flame in the flickering torch light. Gold embroidered crimson and scarlet silk gauze enveloped her from loose hair to bare feet, and garnets threw off sullen sparks at her throat and ankles. She moved slowly, allowing the rich fabric to swirl around her legs. Eowyn, in her storm-gray gown, felt like a sparrow beside a phoenix.

"See it done," she said quietly to her husband.

Faramir took Mayaya's arm and led her to the dais, where the cleric waited.

"You look lovely," he said.

"Many thanks," Mayaya replied. "Red is always worn by brides in my land. The color brings good fortune and prosperity."

"I hope that holds true here as well," Faramir said, thinking of Eomer.

The cleric glared about the Hall to convey his disapproval one last time, and cleared his throat.

"Blessed be the fields of Rohan-" he began. Eowyn held up a hand.

"It is late and we have no need for the full ceremony. Just the vows," she ordered.

The cleric turned a mottled shade of purple, but managed to continue.

"Do you, Eomer King of Rohan, accept Lady Mayaya of Harad as your royal consort?" he growled.

"I do," Faramir answered, mentally apologizing to his absent brother-by-marriage.

"Do you, Lady Mayaya of Harad, take Eomer King of Rohan as your royal consort?"

"I do."

"Then kiss and be done with it!" He slammed his ritual book shut and stormed away. Faramir brushed his lips across Mayaya's, and stepped back. One by one, the small group assembled sank to their knees.

Mayaya looked over the bowed heads, and smiled.


End file.
